The Worst Day
by Jedi Trace
Summary: Mrs. Skywalker, meet Camie, Fixer and co. Sequel to The Best Day. Vignette. Humor.


Title: The Worst Day  
Author: Jedi Trace  
Timeframe: Post-VOTF  
Characters: Camie, Fixer & co., Mara, OC, Luke  
Genre: Vignette, humor  
Summary: Sequel to "The Best Day"

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Star Wars or Luke Skywalker. Unfortunately.

* * *

**The Worst Day**

This is my spot.

It isn't much – just a small cantina in Anchorhead – but it's where me and my friends gather every week to drink and exchange local gossip.

A couple of spacers enter and notice me immediately. Of course. I'm the prettiest girl in town….always have been. I tuck a lock of brown hair behind my ear smugly and smile back at them. I'm Fixer's girl, but they don't have to know that, now do they?

Deak and Windy arrive, late as usual. "Hey, Camie," they join me and signal the bartender.

"Hey yourself," I catch another glance in my direction and wink in response. Fixer never notices. He's clueless like that.

The door opens again and a woman enters. The din of conversation dies as all eyes follow her to the bar. I've never seen her before, probably some smuggler's trophy. With that pale skin and red hair, she's definitely not from around here.

She leans against the bar and orders a drink, taking in the occupants of the room with a single, casual glance.

I look away, trying not to notice that the spacers have turned their attention to her. _Outlander,_ I think with disgust.

Fixer arrives and plops down in the seat beside me. "Did you guys hear? Rumor has it that Skywalker is in town."

"Luke?" Windy asks, surprised. "Really? I haven't seen him since….." She looks down at the table. We don't talk about the murders of his Aunt and Uncle. There are some things that people around here just don't discuss.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the red-haired woman at the bar glances our direction. Plunking her empty glass onto the bar, she walks over to our table catching Deak and Fixer's attention immediately. Damn.

"Did I hear you say that Luke Skywalker is in town?"

"Yes!" Deak almost injures himself making a place for her at our table. "We're old friends of his."

"Really?" she asks, taking the seat gracefully and a bit too wide-eyed, if you ask me. "And you are…?"

"Deak!" he hold his hand out eagerly. "And this is Windy and Fixer and Camie."

We all nod respectively and I notice that her eyebrow cocks just a bit, as if it isn't the first time she's heard our names.

"And you all know Luke? I'm a bit of fan," she grins, continuing the Miss Innocent act that only another woman would notice.

"Is that so?" I glance across the bar. "Well, maybe Kimmy can introduce you sometime. Can't you, Kimmy?" I call out loudly.

Kimmy waddles over, pregnant with her umpteenth child, carrying a serving tray. "What it is, Camie?" she asks dryly.

"This woman here," I point to the stranger, "would like to meet Wormie. I told her that you might could introduce her sometime." I smile sweetly, "Kimmy here is his cousin, you see."

Surprisingly, the woman stands and extends her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Kimmery," she offers warmly.

_Wait. Did she just call her 'Kimmery'? How does she know-?_

I suddenly find myself speared by the stranger's green eyes. "_Wormie?_" I don't think I've ever met anyone with green eyes before. They're a little scary…

"That's not a very nice thing to call a local hero, now is it?" her gaze never falters and her voice, very clear and succinct with no recognizable accent, is definitely not from the Outer Rim.

Kimmy is also glaring vibroblades at me.

"Um…" I look over to Fixer, but he's too busy ordering another drink for the woman I am beginning to very much dislike. "Just a childhood nickname," I mutter, kicking Fixer under the table.

Kimmy turns her back on me deliberately and asks the stranger, "What do you mean, 'local hero'?"

"You haven't heard?" the woman takes her seat again, "It was Skywalker who blew up the first Death Star."

"No way!" Windy and Deak chime in unison. I roll my eyes. She is obviously lying.

"And you've heard of Rogue Squadron, haven't you?"

_Of course we have. Does she think we're stupid?_

"He started it," she accepts the drink with a nod to the waitress.

"Really?" Kimmy leans forward in awe. This is getting ridiculous.

"Of course, that was before he became a Jedi Master."

Kimmy, the clumsiest person I have ever met, spills a pitcher of ale all over the red-haired intruder's jacket. It isn't a particularly fancy jacket, but I can tell it's made of an exclusive, durable fabric often used by pilots from the Core.

"Oh gods!" Kimmy exclaims, dropping the rest of her tray onto the floor. "I'm so sorry! I'll get that-"

But before she can even think about maneuvering her enormous belly, the damp stranger has already retrieved the tray and pitcher. "I got it," she waves Kimmy away. "Here," she pulls out her chair. "Have a seat."

Kimmy continues to apologize and the woman reassures her, "Don't worry about it. In this heat, it'll be dry in no time."

She shrugs off the jacket revealing a form-fitting under shirt with sleeves short enough to emphasize her impressively toned arms. Beside me, Fixer almost drops his mug. I glare at him. For stars' sake, she isn't _that_ pretty! And who does she think she is, anyway? This is _my_ spot! I'm about to tell her so when the door opens again and all eyes turn toward-

I blink.

- _Wormie?_

His hair is darker and shorter than I remember, but that's him all right. He approaches our table with an easy smile.

We all stand to greet him. Except for Kimmy – she's too busy blushing.

He stands beside me shaking hands around the table. Dressed in a similar fashion as the red-haired trollop, I can't help but notice how well he sports the fitted non-descript trousers and dark flight jacket. A few minor scars distinguish his otherwise unchanged profile and, sure enough, a dangerous-looking laser sword hangs on his belt.

"Kimmy?" he notices the young woman sitting across the table. She stands shakily and accepts his embrace. He looks down at the obvious bulge.

"Remember Cale?" she asks shyly. He nods. "This is our third," she blushes even harder.

"Congratulations!" Wormie – I mean, _Luke_ – smiles generously, resting a light hand on her belly. "I'm very happy for you."

"Thanks!" That girl can blush more than any one person I've ever seen.

I catch Luke's arm and my hand lingers, appreciating the muscled bicep beneath my palm. He certainly has grown up. This could very well be one of the best days – and nights – I've had in a long time.

"So, Luke," I murmur, stepping even closer and suddenly very glad that I'm wearing my best low-cut blouse. I remember how he used to look at me. "Maybe we could go out for drinks tonight. Catch up on old times…"

"Um, thanks, Camie," he shifts uncomfortably. "But we have to leave soon. We're meeting the Darklighters for dinner."

_We?_

The fiery trespasser is suddenly at his side and he wraps his arm around her trim waist. "I see you've all met my wife."

His _w – what?_

Fixer's glass does crash to the floor this time, along with several other jaws around the room, including Windy and Deak's.

Kimmery covers her mouth, snickering in obvious amusement. I hope she goes into labor.

"Thanks for the invitation, though," he offers, attempting to smooth over the awkward situation. His wife, however, looks entirely too smug. I hate her.

They leave arm-in-arm and Kimmy leans across the table, gloating. "So, Camie. I'm guessing that's a _'No'._"

Laughter erupts around the table. Even Fixer. I shove him aside and stomp out the back door.

On second thought, this is the worst day ever.

-End-


End file.
